Faith
by Linndechir
Summary: Lord Coward did not merely believe in Blackwood - he had faith in him, a thousand times more faith than any priest had in his feeble God. Blackwood/Coward.


Disclaimer: Obviously they're not mine.

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**Faith**_  
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Lord Blackwood looked down at his hands, the left one covered in blood, warm and sticky. He had hardly felt the sting of the blade during the ritual, but now that they were done his palm burnt, the cut was bleeding heavily, and small rivulets of blood filled the lines of his hand.

Before he could draw a handkerchief to clean himself up, elegant, strong fingers closed around his wrist. Lord Coward's eyes met his, steely grey softened by devotion when the young man slowly sank to his knees and brought the bleeding hand to his mouth.

Gentle kisses on his palm, testing, tasting, before the tongue darted out, slowly licking along the cut - it burnt a little, but rather pleasantly. Blackwood stared down at Nicholas as he continued lapping at the warm skin, apparently quite enjoying himself, if his thoroughness was any indication. Every new drop that leaked from the wound was met by Nicholas' tender tongue until the bleeding slowly subsided.

Blackwood took a quiet, deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knew too well what else this tongue and these lips could do, with Nicholas kneeling so willingly, his hair already slightly messy from the hood he had been wearing. But he couldn't bring himself to interrupt the young man and demand more, he was too mesmerised by the sight of these lips kissing their way to his index, until they reached the tip, tongue swirling around it teasingly.

Blackwood's right hand grabbed Nicholas's shoulder, tightly, painfully even through the thick robes. He needed something to hold on to when Nicholas' lips parted to wrap around his finger, teeth scraping the skin ever so lightly. Nicholas' eyes were closed, the look on his face was not only devoted, but downright ecstatic, as if worshiping his lord was enough to fulfil him.

There was hardly any blood left on Blackwood's hand, but some of it stained Nicholas' lips now, dark in the dim light, a stark contrast to the pale, flawless skin. So much more beautiful than any of the exquisite girls Blackwood chose to sacrifice. The tongue traced another line, this time along the middle finger, before the warm mouth closed around his knuckle, lightly sucking and biting, tongue pressing against his reddened skin.

"Enough." The sound of his own voice surprised Blackwood; it was still as commanding and composed as ever, but his companion knew him well enough to detect the note of arousal and impatience. Nicholas let go of his hand, obediently, and his eyes opened again to look up at Blackwood.

"My lord?" The corners of Nicholas' mouth quirked upwards in a downright impish smile.

A smudge of blood lingered on his bottom lip, smeared a little across his chin. Nicholas was too neat, too careful to let this happen by accident, and Blackwood gladly accepted the invitation.

He roughly grabbed the hand that had been holding his and pulled Nicholas onto his feet, pushing him backwards against the wall in the same motion. Nicholas offered no resistance, the soft gasp that escaped his lips when the air was pressed out of his lungs sounded lustful rather than anything else. His one hand rested in Blackwood's, fingers entwining, the other grabbed the lapel of his coat to pull him closer.

A split second of eye contact before Blackwood kissed him, hungry to taste his own blood on those sweet, eagerly parting lips. And despite all his respect and devotion for his master, Nicholas had lost his shyness long ago - he returned the kiss with equal passion, repaying every bite with one of his own until their blood mingled in their mouths.

Blackwood's breath was racing as much as Nicholas', he had long given up the illusion that he was any more in control of himself in these moments than the younger man. He had torn down Coward's mask - the mask of the prim, polite, perfect gentleman - the first day they had met, violently and ruthlessly, without ever planning to take off his own, but slowly, inevitably, his carefully constructed façade had started to dissolve more and more whenever he was alone with Nicholas.

He had never expected, let alone wanted this to happen, but he could not bring himself to regret it. Not when he knew that Nicholas was the only person he could ever confide in - other men would try to exploit the weakness they might find, but Nicholas would simply kneel and kiss his cuts and bruises, never asking, never questioning, never doubting. Nicholas did not merely believe in him - Nicholas had faith in him, a thousand times more faith than any priest had in his feeble God.

Warm lips brushed his almost shyly and interrupted his brooding, and Blackwood realised only now that he had stopped kissing Nicholas to stare at him. Nicholas was smiling, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, a lingering fear that he might have somehow displeased his lord.

Blackwood merely shook his head and ran the back of his hand over Nicholas' cheek, and the gesture alone was enough to make Nicholas' world whole again. When their lips met once more the kiss was slower, gentler, and Blackwood didn't care that his hand started to bleed again as it slipped under Nicholas' robes - he would just lick the blood off the pale skin later. It was the least he could do to reward him.


End file.
